


Your breath reclaiming mine

by mndalorians



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Brief description of a wound, Gen, gender neutral reader, use of the cauterizer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26365555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mndalorians/pseuds/mndalorians
Summary: Mando collapses into you, and you begin to fall
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	1. Your breath reclaiming mine

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by Indigo by Kississippi, for the lyrics and the yearning

You weren’t really sure how you ended up leaning against the _Razor Crest_ ’s hull with a Mandalorian sprawled over you, but there you were.

Okay, no, that was a lie. You knew exactly how you had come to be there, what you couldn’t explain to yourself was why it was sending your heart fluttering about your chest.

The fluttering hadn’t been there when Mando staggered onto the _Crest_ with the unconscious bounty dragged behind him in one hand and his stomach clutched in the other. It hadn’t been there when you pulled him to the floor with the medikit – the kid already having claimed Mando’s cot for a nap – and resorted to having him kneel before you due to his insistence of _I’m fine, really_. It hadn’t even been there when you lifted his shirt to find the skin jagged from where a virbroblade had sliced through it, nor when you pulled the cauterizer from the pack and flicked it on. No fluttering to be felt, only the unease that always settled in your stomach from the smell of burning flesh.

Mando only admitted (wordlessly) that he was not fine when you turned the cauterizer off and he promptly slumped forward, his body finally giving out and collapsing into you and maybe, just maybe, that was when the fluttering had started. Barely a brush against your ribs but _there_. You don’t know how you managed to stay upright for so long but under Mando’s weight you eventually found yourself slipping with the slow pace of a Hothian glacier surrendering itself to the ocean, your core muscles straining so as not to jerk him as you sunk back lower and lower. Your shoulders found the wall behind you first, but that left your lower back hanging in empty space. It didn’t take long for a steady ache to make its home in and around your vertebrae – Maker, you would be sore tomorrow – but how could you move with Mando spread over you? Not because he was too heavy (you were sure you could shove him off, or wake him in a more polite way) but because he exhausted himself at every turn and had only just managed to stumble back into the _Crest_ ’s hull after carbonising the bounty. And if you did wake him you knew he would be straight up to the cockpit to move on to the next job with no more rest than that which he had found in your arms. It would have been irreverent, you felt, to disturb him. So you shuffled a little closer to the wall and settled in for at least an hour or two, until Mando woke with a start and shot off to the cockpit as you predicted he would, and let your mind wander to distract you from the burning in your back.

It didn’t stray far though, as much as you would have liked to dream of sprawling meadows or vibrant sunsets. No, your mind landed on the man in your arms, even as you tried to opt for a different approach and pull it away to more sensible things like the wiring that needed to be done, or what you were going to do if the kid woke up first. The more you tried to pull away though, the harsher the snap back to Mando was. It was with some reluctance and a warming face that you yielded. Your chest still felt tight and unfamiliar and you rationalised in your head that if you indulged those persistent thoughts, just a little, then maybe those feelings would ease.

Your eyes dropped down to take him in properly: the way he stretched out fully, legs akimbo, hips pressing into your crossed calves, arms falling over your sides, head resting just below your clavicle. Earlier, you managed to persuade him to remove his cuirass, backplate and cape which allowed you a perfect view as his back rose and fell with each breath. You watched the fabric of his undershirt stretch slightly with every inhale, imagined how many scars littered the expanse of skin beneath if the morsel you had seen was any indicator. It fascinated you in that quiet moment, how exposed he looked as he lay there, and what it meant that he had allowed himself to fall asleep before you, leaving himself open and vulnerable _for you_.

The flutters were revitalised at the thought, your lungs contracting as if to shy away from their upheaval within your chest and leaving you breathless. But you were overthinking it, right? Anyone would fall asleep anywhere if they were as physically tired as Mando had been, not forgetting the serious wound stretching across his lower abdomen. As strung out as he was over the kid’s safety and any potential enemy waiting just around the next corner, there had to come a time when the body wrestled control from the mind and dragged it into any kind of rest it could muster, whether it be fitful bouts or a whole blessed night. You tried to convince yourself that your being there had no impact on Mando’s state.

But try as you might, you couldn’t help the flush that warmed your cheeks at those thoughts, the implicit trust he must have had in you – not only in that moment but in looking after the kid and the ship too. You hadn’t really thought about it before, not in the few months you had spent with Mando; there was always something that needed to be done to make sure the _Crest_ stayed in the sky or kept the kid happy and cared for. Really, there was little time to stop and think about anything that wasn’t centred around those two things.

Until Mando had collapsed on top of you, at least.

You let out a small groan, shifting just enough to uncross your legs and rest the one bearing most of Mando’s weight against the floor, the other still bent so as to keep him level. A sigh then came from Mando, but it wasn’t a tired or disgruntled sigh, not the kind you had become accustomed to hearing. No, it was one of contentment. You could only watch as he seemed to sink into you, his limbs shedding the long-held tension that left him rigid when awake.

And in that moment, with that glacial pace, the one that had ended with your shoulders against the wall, you found yourself falling. Not in love – not yet – but falling nonetheless into something akin to it, something malleable that could be shaped into love if—

There was a distinct pause in your stream of consciousness, as if it had shut off and was taking its time on rebooting. There was a little _thud_ as your head hit the wall and you turned your eyes upwards.

If what? What were you going to do? Flirt? Admit to your growing affections? Bare your feelings to Mando, stoic Mando who gave you so little to work with when it came to how he felt? It was probably unrequited anyway (or so you tried to tell yourself), and he was basically your employer, you doubted he saw you as anything more than a caretaker.

But – and it was here that a traitorous little piece of your heart mutinied against your better judgement – you wanted him to see you as more.

Mando was still out cold when your eyes fell from the ceiling and so with a cautious hand you reached up to cup the back of his helmet, allowing your fingers to splay across the cool metal. Your pinkie ran along the ridges at the helmet’s base, the firm press against your skin a reminder that that moment, Mando soft and human, was a finite thing. You didn’t know how long it would be before he put his armour back on and returned to the reserved and guarded figure he usually was, so far detached from the one in your arms.

Your hand stilled at a thought that struck the incessant flutters in your chest and sent them falling to the bottom of your stomach. What would a relationship with Mando even look like if you were to ever make a move and find your feelings reciprocated? Kriff, you didn’t even know his real name, and neither of you had the most mundane of lifestyles as you were chased across the galaxy. Was there really any time for a relationship that could develop beyond caring for each other’s survival? Even then, with the kid as an outlier, Mando wasn’t exactly the most expressive or affectionate person.

That treacherous piece of your heart whispered into the quiet of the ship: _he could be for you, though_.

Maker, you would wear yourself thin if you continued to swing back and forth between your head and your heart.

And yet you continued to play into your own torment (you were never taking a break again if _this_ was what it led to), as you realised no matter where your relationship with Mando went, you wouldn’t be able to kiss him. You resigned yourself to that fact as soon as it appeared as more than a phantom in your mind – you knew how much his creed meant to him – but it was still a sore realisation. To know you could not have something only made you want it more. It didn’t help either that you couldn’t pull your mind away from thoughts of his eyes and lips and how soft they might have been in a stark contrast to the beskar armour. But most of all, you couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it would feel for his breath, unimpeded by his helmet, to disturb your hair as he leaned in close to your ear to speak. How nice it would feel for his breath to fan across your cheek. How nice it would feel for your lips to be so close together that your breaths mingled with every exhale, with every inhale taking a little piece that was once – momentarily – the others. Giving and taking, taking and giving with each breath, like twin moons pushing and pulling the oceans between them. To be so close that your very atoms reacted to the sensation, vying to be closer still.

All that found in the simplicity of a breath. What a small, intimate thing.

You lifted your hand, the one not already at the back of his head, careful not to disturb him, and held it just under the front of his helmet. There was a pause, about two of your own breaths before his back sunk with an exhale of air. The majority of it struck the visor, diffusing across its interior surface, but there was the ghost of a breath that managed to escape and tickle the back of your hand. It was the barest of touches and maybe you had imagined it, but it was enough to curve the corners of your mouth just slightly. _Definitely human_ , and not a droid as you had once joked.

You found yourself slipping just a little bit more towards the cold water that wasn’t affection but _love_. You could already feel the icy shock that would flood your entire body when you finally fell, the chill creeping into your veins as you edged closer to the point of no return.

You snatched your hand back when Mando suddenly began to move, squirming and pressing himself closer to you until his knee pushed down on your bent leg, straining your adductors as they were stretched beyond what was comfortable. Your reaction was immediate, your body curling inward to alleviate the strain. A hiss and a curse escaped your lips as your thigh caught Mando in the stomach, right where his wound was. He let out a pained grunt as you dropped your leg back down, Mando falling with it and freeing your other leg. He went limp again as he (somehow) sunk further into your arms – his muscles releasing the tension that had pushed his shoulders up against the rim of his helmet at the sudden flare of pain – and let out a sigh. A sigh just quiet enough to be missed by his modulator but not by you, by virtue of proximity. And, if you heard him correctly, you had also heard your name on the back of that sigh, its sounds rounded out in a lazy, light drawl.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you waited for him to move again because _surely_ that should have woken him. You stared at his back as it rose and fell with each steady breath, but he remained as he was. Would the galaxy collapsing have pulled him from his exhaustion, or if he had come around (however briefly), had the pain caused him to pass out again? Then, would your thundering heart, so forceful you were sure it reverberated through his helmet, cause him to stir into awakening properly? Because you were now most definitely plummeting towards that frigid water and you knew you wouldn’t be able to cope if he woke up in that moment.

Your head thumped against the wall once more, your heart still erratic. Was that really all it had taken? A couple of sighs, your name riding a breath as an unconscious utterance and you were a goner? Were you really that lonely, that touch starved?

If you offered yourself a little bit of kindness and thought it through though, had you not already started falling for him before that day? The foreign feeling of not-quite-love must have masqueraded itself in the form of a familiar camaraderie and snuck in unseen somewhere along your travels because the more you thought about it the more you noticed the little moments that hinted at Mando caring for you in some capacity, albeit in ways that you were unaccustomed to. Like when he would ask how you were after being away for a day or two, or the time he had brought hondanan plums back to the ship after remembering they were a delicacy on you home planet and found they were readily available at the market he had visited.

Maybe he cared more than you had first realised or wanted to admit to yourself, but would either of you do anything about it?

You wrapped your arms around his back, simply holding him for a short while before your hands began to wander in lazy patterns around skin so unused to being so exposed. You focused on the feeling of him beneath your fingertips; the slight drag of his shirt, the hills and valleys of his muscles, memorising it all so that it might stave of the longing tugging at your heart. But it was a drop of water on a parched tongue or a breeze on a muggy and stagnant day, an overwhelming relief but only for a glorious, single moment. The thirst was left unsatisfied, the air settled, feeling more oppressive than it had before and you wished wished _wished_ you were brave enough to do something about it when he awoke. You were drowning but you didn’t know how well beskar armour did in water, if Mando would sink or float if he too jumped in.

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. You closed your eyes as one hand returned to his helmet and back to its ministrations around those ridges, imagining soft hair in place of cool beskar, reclining against a sun-warmed tree instead of impersonal metal, eyes of an indeterminable colour blearily blinking open and turning to you with a drowsy smile instead of the inevitable waking jerk and an emotionless visor staring up at you.

It was a pipe dream, but it was enough. It had to be


	2. A place to rest your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din comes to terms with his own feelings for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series was unintentional when I first began writing it, so this chapter could probably be read on its own without much difficulty.

Din Djarin knew pain. It was as familiar as the _Razor Crest_ ’s controls, his Amban rifle in his hands. He knew of the fire that trailed behind every blade pressed into his skin and the burn of blaster bolts. He had been electrocuted, thrown around and beaten up more times than he cared to admit. But time dulled memories, rounded them out until agonising pain was reduced to remnants of what it once was, and only physical scars declared that it was ever there in the first place. It wasn’t until the next injury or flare up that the memories rushed back in their entireties, as sharp and searing as the last time.

Din was reminded of that fact when your leg pressed into his freshly cauterised and still throbbing wound. It tore him from his slumber and slammed him back into the world without mercy. He might have been awake before, somewhere in that hazy in-between where he was sure he was awake until he really was, but the burst of pain that fired through his abdomen nevertheless left him dazed and only able to react with a grunt. His body responded on its own volition as he struggled to orientate himself, the pain like smoke clouding his mind. His muscles spasmed in their attempt to curl around that fire and extinguish it, but it was water on oil and only served to send another flare of heat across his stomach. The muscles relaxed almost immediately, jerking back from the pain as if burned, and he collapsed back on top of you, though he only half recognised the thought as it passed through his mind. It was more an acknowledgement of your presence than any concrete concept, not enough for his heart to squeeze as it usually did around you.

And then, like a damned fool, he said your name.

He didn’t mean to, but the jostling and sudden shock had dislodged it from where he had tucked it away beneath his tongue along with the loving and honeyed tone it wished to be spoken in. It had felt like the safest place to keep such a confession (because that was what it was, wasn’t it? The affection wrapped around your name made sure of that) until, all of a sudden, it wasn’t. How naïve he had been to think he could hold your name there without consequence, without it one day slipping out. He managed before, was quick enough to pin it down with his tongue whenever you appeared at the top of the _Crest_ ’s ramp, your smile bright as you welcomed his return, though he should have realised his luck would one day run out. Din’s only solace was that the sweet tone stuck to his gums, leaving your name to fall out with only a sigh, barely any air behind it to make it audible. But still, you had heard it, he could tell by the way your stomach flexed beneath him and the rigidity with which you held yourself. You weren’t even breathing, he realised after a beat, his brain still playing catch up, still reeling from the chaos contained within mere moments, and it was like a survival instinct kicked in and made him hyperaware of his own breathing – could you tell he was awake?

Breathe. _Breathe_.

In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

He couldn’t explain to you why he spoke you name so easily in that moment, couldn’t translate the way his heart skipped upon seeing you after a long day, because to do so meant exposing those feelings he had long tried to bury. And with his head resting on your shoulder there was no way for Din to gauge your reaction to the slip so that he could navigate what felt like a behemoth of a task. You were so easy to read too, every scrunch of your eyebrows or quirk of your lips gave him a glimpse into what you were thinking, no matter what you tried to tell him. Were you looking down at him, eyes narrowed, your bottom lip between your teeth as if you were working through a problem? Or was your head tilted to the side, your face set in a hard stare, the same one you had given him earlier when he had promised that he was fine, despite the _Crest_ ’s floor rising and falling like a tumultuous sea beneath him?

Din couldn’t tell and though he tried to come up with some plausible excuse, it was such new territory that his mind was desolate, the smoke that was yet to clear hindering him further. All he could do was remain stretched out over you and hope that you thought he was still asleep.

He was doing no better than lying to you – a thought that twisted his stomach so tight it was almost as painful as his actual wound – but fear over the dynamic between the two of you being irrevocably damaged by anything he said kept him inert. To speak in that moment threatened the knowing smiles you gave him whenever the kid played cute and the small touches you offered when you manoeuvred around each other in the more cramped spaces of the _Crest_. It risked leaving the two of you with no other option than to retreat from each other and become strangers once again, to return to the hesitancy and awkwardness that had punctuated the beginning of your relationship.

Din loathed the very idea of it.

There was a dull _thud_ just above his head and on instinct his eyes lifted towards you, finding the wall above your shoulder and nothing more. Had… had that been your head? Of everything he had anticipated while he lay over you – maybe a light shake to see if he was _really_ awake or a forceful shove to push him off of you – that was perhaps the most unexpected. He furrowed his brow as his brain tried to pick out a reasonable explanation for the sound, something that wasn’t frustration at finding yourself beneath him because he was _sure_ you could have pushed him off you if you really wanted to. But his mind presented no other possibility, bar one he couldn’t dare accept, for it was too good to be true. The idea of your head falling back as Din’s did when you left him alone in the cockpit after assuaging his fears over the kid’s safety, your eyes and smile soft, persisted, however. Din couldn’t shake it – was your heart clenching as his did? – and so, just for a little while, he could pretend that was really the reason for the sound, though he was certain a more obvious one would strike him with stunning clarity later, one that would send him retreating to the cockpit, his face burning beneath the helmet.

But then your arms came up to rest across his back and Din had to forcibly hold back the shudder that ran through him at the weight of your arms against _him_ rather than his backplate.

How many lightyears had he travelled only to find that where he belonged was in between your arms, a space he had been orbiting for months? Din was so sure of his place there that it frightened him with how forcible such an intuition could be, flaring up within him so strongly that any doubt was turned to ash.

That fire settled in his chest when your arms stayed there, each moment that passed in your embrace was like kindling that only added to the blaze, its warmth spreading out from his heart all the way to his fingers and down his legs. You wanted to hold him, you wanted him there in your arms. Could he have dared to be so hopeful in his feelings being returned? The idea seemed impossible, but maybe you were better at hiding your feelings than Din had previously thought, or maybe you were too shy, as Din was, to admit to any feelings that jeopardised your current relationship.

What a pair the two of you made, so nervous to take that jump but both of you taking what you couldn’t ask the other for in that moment, siphoning the feeling of another pressed against your body, hoping that touch could speak of your affection towards each other where your tongues failed. And it was working, for the choice to rest your arms across his back had been a deliberate one and could not be misconstrued, no matter how much the malicious voice in the back of his head tried to twist your intent away from that fact.

Your arms lifted away from his back and Din nearly lurched up to beg for their return, for just a little longer, everything that had previously kept him unmoving be damned. They returned a second later, Din’s pleas not required after all, repositioned just a little lower down his back and your hands, _your hands_ … He was boneless under your fingers as they moved in languid, rambling patterns.

Din knew of the fire he associated with pain, but the heat sparked by your touch did not carry the same scorching ability. Rather, it was a fire on a cold night, the heat of a hot meal in his stomach, it was comfort and security and brought a contentedness to Din that he had not felt in so long. He had been hesitant to describe his feelings as anything but a growing affection, a product of your time spent in close proximity to each other, but it was undeniable that what Din felt was so much more than that. Perhaps it was already love, rather than affection, that wrapped around his heart, his unfamiliarity with the two owing to him being unable to determine where one ended and the other began. He was sure of it though, despite how long it had taken him to recognise that transition, for he could rest in your arms and was that not love? To bare yourself to someone, to be vulnerable – literally and figuratively – but instead find yourself protected? Safe?

Din, who so rarely showed any part of himself that wasn’t beskar, would call that love.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off him at the admission, his lungs – once crushed – free to breathe in fresh air that further fed those flames burning away inside him. They licked up his throat, melted the saccharine tone that still sat in his mouth into nectar begging to be used on you.

Din tried to mouth a confession, tried to round his lips around vowels and consonants, but it was with a painful twinge in his chest that he realised he did not have the words to tell you he loved you. A simple ‘I love you’ didn’t seem right, it wasn’t enough to properly convey the way his heart swelled in response to your touch or describe the calm that washed over him by simply being in your presence. Everything Din knew about love had been picked up in passing, in the foggy memory of his father’s arms wrapped around his mother, whispering into her ear, or the tinny love songs playing over cantina speakers that sang of earthshattering passions, of suns and stars. But they were not Din’s to do with as he please, they were borrowed words, spoken again and again over millennia, spoken to so many people that weren’t you. You deserved better than recycled words that did not truly capture your essence.

A sigh interrupted the silence of the hull as one of your arms lifted away from his back and Din felt a light pressure press against the back of his helmet. Your nail softly clacked against the ridges there as your ran your finger over them, a gentle reminder of what lay between you, that impenetrable barrier. But there was no ache in Din’s chest at the thought, no wave that crashed over him and snuffed out his love, for your hand on his back whispered against his undershirt in response, proof that he would shed his beskar, piece by piece, for you, maybe even his helmet in the distant future if he survived long enough to do so.

Din closed his eyes, the warmth that enveloped him and your touch making him drowsy, and made a promise to himself. He would find the words, would cross the galaxy as many times as he had to and hunt them down, would collect them all until he found the right ones to describe all the ways his heart reacted to you. And then he would tell you he loved you.

Eventually.

One day.

Maybe he could start by telling you his name.


End file.
